


Everything and Nothing

by macabre_monkey



Category: The Last Herald Mage, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Illness, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabre_monkey/pseuds/macabre_monkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Tylendel didn't die on Sovvan night, would he and Vanyel get their happily-ever-after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

…”He’s dead, you bastards! He’s dead, and you’re laughing, you’re singing! Damn you all, I’ll teach you to sing a different song! You want magic? Well, here’s magic for you—“ Magelight crackled around Tylendel's upraised hands as he prepared the second spell, and Vanyel shivered, part in dread, part from the autumn chill, and part in weakness from the Gate. But before Tylendel could begin the incantation, a shrill scream of equine defiance rang out from behind Vanyel. And Gala thundered through the Gate at his back, pounding past him, then past Tylendel, and turned to face him. She screamed again, more anger in her cry than Vanyel had ever thought possible to hear in a horse’s voice. And to his amazement, he could hear Gala’s outraged voice in his own mind.

 _:Chosen, what are you doing?! Stop this madness!:_ Her voice was filled with anger and anguish. Tylendel stared at her, mouth open, and Vanyel felt something different from Tylendel through this strange new bond; rage and grief was replaced by dread and fear, and a cold feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Gala—“ Tylendel began, his voice a dry whisper. “Gala, no—I, please, no…” his voice cracked and he fell to his knees, trembling before his Companion as she pawed the ground in agitation.

 _:I should,:_ she replied. Tylendel moaned and covered his face. Gala continued, her voice still filled with anguish and consternation as she ruthlessly dug through Tylendel's mind, looking for answers, and the answers only made her angrier.

_:How could you? How could you ever think of inflicting those monsters on anyone, no matter what they’ve done to you? I thought you were better than that. I thought—but I was obviously wrong. I don’t know who I’m more disappointed in: you, or myself, for making such a mistake.:_

“Gala, please!” Tylendel sobbed. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking! I wasn’t myself!”

 _:You_ were _thinking! You planned this for weeks, and fool that I am, I didn’t pry; I let you have your space, thinking that you just needed time! And worse, look at Vanyel, look at what you’re doing to him! Your_ lifebonded. _You_ used _him,_ manipulated _him into helping you and now he’s paying the price.:_ At that Tylendel looked back and met Vanyel’s eyes, and his heart sank even further, realizing just how weakened Van was, and wondering what he was making of what he was hearing.

 _:You knew he’d do anything for you,:_ Gala said, unrelenting. _:You knew just what to say to get him to help you. You used him, manipulated him into doing something he knew was wrong, all for love of you. Dammit Lendel, didn’t you think of the consequences? Didn’t you think about what would have become of Vanyel if you’d gone through with this?_ You _can’t be executed, because your Gifts are too valuable, and because of the bond with me…:_ she paused for a moment, and Tylendel gasped and paled, _:But Vanyel’s just an ordinary boy, and you were about to turn him into an accomplice to murder. You_ do _realize the penalty for murder, don’t you?:_

She would have said more, but was forestalled by the arrival of Savil and other Heralds. They took in the scene at a glance: Vanyel, swaying on his feet, clutching the railing of the pavilion, weakened almost to unconsciousness by the Gate; Tylendel, on his knees, sobbing; Gala standing over him, her rage nearly palpable; and the crowd of terrified Leshara, husbands interposing themselves over wives, mothers clutching frightened children, the band of players and acrobats frozen on the makeshift stage. Savil went to Vanyel; he barely registered her presence as he slid down the rail, not even wincing when splinters snagged the tender skin of his palms and the inside of his arms.

Savil turned to the other Heralds and said, “Lance, one of us needs to stay here and sort things out, and make sure none of these fools gets the notion to ride out to Lendel’s holding for revenge, because if we don’t close this Gate very soon we’re going to lose Van. His energy is already critically low.” At this Tylendel leapt to his feet and stumbled over to Vanyel’s side; Savil looked at the trainee, furious at him but knowing that now was not the time and place for discipline.

“As Queen’s Own, I suppose I’m the best choice to stay behind,” Herald Lancir said. “Get these two back to Haven while I try to calm things down on this end, but do send one of your messenger pigeons when you figure out what the hell happened here.”

Herald Jaysen appeared at Vanyel’s side; together they managed to support Vanyel back through the Gate, with Tylendel and Gala anxiously following. Once through, Savil turned to the business of taking down the Gate. “Careful, now,” Jaysen muttered. Painstakingly, Savil untied the Gate threads and sent as much of the energy back into Vanyel as she could, which was little enough, it seemed. He regained some semblance of consciousness, but was still groggy. Tylendel blew out the breath he hadn’t even known he was holding, damning himself for ten kinds of fool for not realizing how quickly the Gate would drain Van. Amazingly, the two nags Van and Lendel bought were still nearby, either too stupid or too tired to wander off, even though animals—horses and dogs in particular—seemed to be especially sensitive to and fearful of magical energy. That was all to the good, because Gala informed Lendel that he wasn’t going to be riding her on the way back to Haven. She turned and galloped away, disappearing quickly while Lendel watched, torn between trying to follow her and convince her not to—no, it didn’t bear thinking about—and staying with Vanyel. _It’s not as if I could catch her anyway, he thought dispiritedly._ He turned back to the others—Savil was already mounted on Kellen, while Jaysen helped tie Van pillion. Savil pinned him with a glare and mindspoke him. _:Grab those two horses you brought, and ride between Jaysen and me.:_ Her mindvoice was seething with nuances of anger, and fear. Numbly, Tylendel obeyed.

The ride back to Haven was quiet. Vanyel barely stirred the whole way, and Tylendel was so eaten with anxiety and shame that he couldn’t even look up. Jaysen kept whatever he was thinking to himself, and Savil was keeping a careful reign on her temper and mouth until she and Tylendel were behind closed doors. Preferably the doors of her workroom. She was no little shaken by what she had just seen. How in hell had Tylendel managed a Gate spell? And how had been able to tie it to Vanyel? There was absolutely no telling what he might do, and she would just as soon make sure whatever confrontation they had happened in a place that could contain Tylendel should he become violent. He was subdued now, but that was most likely due to shock. From what Kellen had told her, Gala had come very close to repudiating him—she still might. The thought made her shudder. No Companion had ever repudiated her Chosen, in all the centuries that Heralds had served Valdemar. What was it Tylendel had been planning to do that was so terrible, to cause such a drastic response from Gala?

When they finally reached the palace gates, Savil mindcalled Healer Andrel and asked him to meet her at her suite. She wanted him to check Van over, just to be safe. Jaysen helped Van down, and between the two of them they were able to get Vanyel back in his room. It looked rather like they were supporting a drunken comrade, and Savil spared a thought as to what Van would say if he knew that. He’d been loosening up lately, but he was still damn touchy about his dignity. Once he was safely in bed with Andrel leaning over him, she caught Tylendel's eye and motioned him out the door.

“The workroom,” she barked, and Tylendel, resigned, opened the door and sat at the cheap, tiny table. For a moment she just stood, gathering her thoughts, trying to keep her anger at bay and approach this situation objectively, but it was simply no use. She decided at the last minute to put the Truth Spell on him. Second stage, so he would have it all out now, and leave no prevarications or half truths to dig through.

“What, in the name of the gods, were you doing out there?” Somehow she was able to not shout the question at him.

He replied immediately, confusion and then realization in his eyes as the words were compelled from him. “I was going to kill the Leshara,” he stated, without inflection.

“That much is obvious. How were you planning on doing that?” she asked, a chill going down her spine at his tone.

“I asked Vanyel to find a spell in one of your books so I could conjure a pack of wyrsa—“ a hissed intake of breath from Savil.

 _“Wyrsa?”_ She braced herself against the table, knees weak with reaction. “Wyrsa? Dear gods, Lendel, do you have any idea of the damage—how could you? Dammit, Lendel, _why_?”

Suddenly the muted, docile trainee disappeared, leaving a sullen, angry mage-youth. “What do you mean, _why_?” he growled. “You know what they did—you know they killed Staven, and he begged me, _begged_ me, to _pay them back_. The things they conjured up, they hurt him before they killed him, they hurt him so he would die _slowly_ , in _agony_ , and Even Leshara stood over him and _gloated_ , and you want to know _why_ I was going to unleash a pack of wyrsa on those bastards?!” He choked on a sob, tears on his cheeks. Little flickers of mage energy were crackling around him, and she could feel an increase in pressure in the room.

“Lendel, watch it,” she warned, fighting back her unease. “Control, Lendel. Get your energy under control.” He simply glared at her, and for a while there was no change, then slowly, the flickers dissipated, the pressure lifted, but Lendel’s eyes were still full of rage, and if there was a scrap of sanity in them, Savil couldn’t see it. _How could I have missed this before? And what the hell am I going to do with him? Leave him in here, for the time being, I suppose. There’s nowhere else that could hold him if he decided to storm back to the Leshara Holding, and there’s no telling what he would do to anyone who was in his way. Gods. No wonder Gala was going to repudiate him._

Steeling herself, she continued the interrogation, and the more she learned from him, what he’d been planning, the sheer depth of malice and obsession he’d been harboring, shook her to her core. There was a sadness growing in her—where was her heart-son, the boy that had been such a joy to teach? The boy in front of her now was in no way the same. As she moved on to the mechanics of how he’d managed the Gate, and how far he got on the conjuration, she couldn’t help but feel a flash of pride—I always knew he was capable of great things, she thought. But gods, to use his Gift like this…. Finally she knew enough. It was time to convene the Heraldic Circle and figure out just what the hell they were going to do about this.


	2. Chapter 2

Vanyel stirred restlessly, caught in a dream.

 _Lightning arced across the sky as snow fell and gathered on boulders scattered throughout the pass. Before them lay an army, behind them, the Northern Border. He looked over at Tylendel and gave him a sad smile. He reached over and grabbed Lendel’s hand, squeezing almost painfully, tears shining in both their eyes._

 _“I’ve never regretted my choice, Lendel. Not once.” He couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice; he didn’t want to die—who did?—but he wouldn’t leave Tylendel to face this alone. The thought was unbearable._

 _“I’m glad you’re with me, ashke,” Tylendel murmured, before turning back to face—_

 _—Leareth—_

 _—closing his eyes, and summoning the mage energies, more than his body could possibly handle, and then everything blossomed in brilliant red and white light—_

He sat up, gasping. Moonlight filtered through the drapes at the windows and garden door. Automatically he glanced at Tylendel's side of the bed, noting with no particular shock that it was unoccupied. A wave of vertigo took him then, and he fell back against the pillow, mind still reeling from the dream. It was similar to his old ice dream—but it was as if it had been clarified, magnified, detailed. And before that? He sat up again, for one moment unsure if the confrontation with the Leshara had actually happened or if it had been part of the dream. He eyed the other side of the bed warily; Lendel had made a habit lately of getting up in the middle of the night for wine—but when he thought about his lover, he had a sudden flash, an image of a caged wolf, pacing, waiting for a chance to spring on its captors.

The Leshara hadn’t been a dream.

He flung the covers off and threw on the first clothes he grabbed, a plain, serviceable pair of breeches and a shirt that he normally wore for weapons practice, and went into the common room.

It was empty. Judging by the time candles, it would be dawn in just a few moments. Moving quietly across the floor, he peeked in Savil’s room. Also empty, the bed still made. He went back to check Mardic and Donni’s room. Their room was empty, too, but the bedspread was thrown back, the sheets rumpled.

Vanyel suddenly had a very, very bad feeling. He glanced at the door to Savil’s workroom. And he knew, without knowing how he knew, that it would be a mistake to check it.

A piece of parchment on the sideboard caught his eye.

 _Vanyel,_

 _When you wake up, get dressed for Court and go strait to the Council Chamber. The Heraldic Circle and the Privy Council have convened for an emergency session regarding tonight’s events (or last night’s, depending on when you’re reading this). We’re expecting you. You have a lot to answer for._

 _Savil_

After reading the ominous note several times, the meaning of the words finally penetrated the fog surrounding his mind. Tears were suddenly in his eyes. He crumpled the note and went back into his room to dress. Once there, he stood in front of his small mirror. Dark circles were under his eyes, his hair was a mess, and he was wearing the most drab clothing he owned, but suddenly he didn’t care. He was so damn tired of the whole pretense, and he just wanted to get—whatever—over with so that he could start thinking of ways to help Tylendel. He’d thought revenge would work, and bring back the Tylendel who’d been so warm and full of love, quick to laugh and tease his beloved. But that had been a mistake. What he’d seen tonight— _gods_ , it had been like a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare; at least nightmares weren’t real. Seeing Tylendel like that had nearly broken his heart.

Vanyel had to ask a servant to show him to the Council Chamber, since it was in a part of the palace he’d never been in. This section was old, probably the oldest. The walls were darkened with age and soot from countless lanterns, the tapestries faded and dusty, and a slight trench had been worn through the middle of the stone floor. The girl stopped in front a door that was flanked by two palace guards. They nodded at him curtly and one opened the door and announced them.

Once inside Vanyel was greeted by about a dozen faces, none of them friendly. Some were merely neutral, others didn’t bother hiding open animosity. Some of the Heralds he knew from Court, like the Lord Marshall’s Herald and Seneschal’s Herald, but he was brought up short when he saw the queen herself at the head of the table. _Of course the queen would be here, you idiot, she’s a Herald too, and head of her own Privy Council_. But he was shocked, nonetheless. And suddenly regretting not changing his clothes and doing something with his hair. Unbidden, he imagined Tylendel chuckling and calling him a peacock. He swallowed a lump in his throat and sat at the empty space his aunt waved him to.

“Let’s get strait to business, youngling; it’s been a long night for all of us, and I’m quite sure there is still much to do in this matter,” Queen Elspeth said.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Van replied, still a little dazed to have the queen’s full attention on him. The only time he’d ever really been near her was when Savil presented him to Court months ago, and she’d barely said two words to him.

The Seneschal’s Herald spoke next. “Herald Mage Savil has already interrogated Trainee Tylendel; now we want to hear your version of events, starting with the death of Lord Staven.”

For a moment Van froze. _Everything?_ But a prompting nod from Savil encouraged him, a bit. _It’s not like I have to tell them anything really personal,_ he thought. _They only want to know what his plans were._

But suddenly words were flowing out of him, words he hadn’t meant to say.

“After Staven was killed, Tylendel acted…different. Like he had a secret. I didn’t pry, though, I knew he would tell me when he was ready. I wasn’t surprised when he asked me to help him get revenge on the Leshara. I told him I would help him, but that first he needed to get better, stronger.” That wasn’t what he’d meant to say! He tried to fight the words, to say them the way he’d planned, but they kept coming. _Truth spell,_ he realized. _They’ve truth spelled me!_ He thought in indignation.

“…The second spell—he never said what it was, but,” Van took a steadying breath and closed his eyes, “I didn’t ask—I didn’t want to know. I—“

“That’s enough, lad,” the queen interrupted. She sighed. “What do you think of that, Savil?”

Savil rubbed her eyes and said, “I think I was a damn fool, Your Highness. I knew how close Tylendel was with his twin; I should have seen signs of what was going on, but he truly had me fooled with that bit of acting. I’d have said before last night that Lendel couldn’t even make it across my suite without fainting from exhaustion.”

“What I don’t understand, boy,” another Herald interjected, “is why you went along with this nonsense in the first place?”

Still caught in the grip of the second stage truth spell, Vanyel, mortified, blurted out, “Because, because I love him, and I wanted to help him. He was so— _different_ , and I wanted him back the way he was,” he said softly. “I thought the only way to help him was to get revenge.”

The Herald threw up his arms, exasperated. “And it didn’t occur to you to go to the authorities with any of this?” Savil sighed and spoke up.

“Seldasen, you know how the nobility are. ‘Turn the other cheek’ is practically blasphemy to them. Vanyel did the only thing anyone ever taught him was right. I’m not saying he _was_ ,” she interjected, before he could cut her off, “I’m just saying none of us should be surprised he was willing to go along with this. And at this point yelling at the boy when he already knows he was wrong isn't going to help matters.” She paused for a moment, meeting everyone’s eyes before continuing. “We’ve learned all we can from them. We have more than enough evidence from their testimony to bring Evan Leshara to trial, and we can let the proper authorities deal with him. Now our priority is helping Tylendel. We need to get with Healer’s Collegium, and have them send over the best Mindhealer they’ve got—

“Who happens to be Lancir,” someone mumbled.

“Who happens to be controlling the situation at the Leshara Holding,” Savil finished. “Tylendel is, gods, from what I saw last night, he’s not just unbalanced. I think experiencing Staven’s death like that has driven him well and truly insane.”

Vanyel went cold at her pronouncement. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to get Tylendel away from these awful people, and leave Companions and revenge and magic all behind. The Heralds continued arguing over his head, and all the while he felt like his life was shattering apart. Only now did he consider what his father’s reaction to all this might be. He looked down and saw his hands trembling. He told himself it was just residual weakness from the Gate spell, but he couldn’t make himself believe it.

 _What’s going to happen to us now? Gala is still gone, and they think Tylendel's gone mad—maybe he really has. There’s no other explanation. Will they lock him away? And Father—oh gods above, when he finds out about this—he’ll probably lock me away too. And Lendel and I will never see each other again._

“One more thing we need to address is Lord Withen, Vanyel’s father.” Savil’s voice cut through his haze of despair. “When my brother gets wind of this, you can bet he’ll drag Van back to their holding; he’ll probably send him to some obscure temple for ‘purifying’, if he doesn’t outright disown him.” Vanyel thought he heard someone mutter “good riddance” but he focused on Savil, hope rising. “If there is one thing I’m still absolutely certain of, it’s that if Tylendel loses Vanyel, it will drive him totally over the edge. Maybe even suicidal. He’s lost his twin, been thwarted in his vengeance, his Companion has abandoned him—Vanyel is all he has left right now. For all I know, he may decide he needs to get revenge on Withen for taking Van away. Your Highness, I know it’s unusual, but if Withen shows up at Court demanding I relinquish custody of Vanyel—“

“Savil, I can’t just keep a father from his son—his _minor_ son, his _heir_ , especially after what the boy has done.”

Savil, tired down to her bones, lost her patience. “Dammit, Elspeth, you don’t understand—“

“Before we do anything else, we need to get Mindhealers for Trainee Tylendel,” the Seneschal’s Herald interrupted smoothly. “Let them ascertain whether or not Vanyel’s presence here is key to his continued stability.”

Vanyel was dismissed after that, while Savil and the rest of the Council continued their debate. He was escorted back to the suite by a guardsman and told not to leave.

So. It was house arrest, then. He was still tired, but he didn’t want to go back to his room, to the big, empty bed, so he lay down on the sofa. He really didn’t think he would be able to sleep; his mind was running in weary circles out of worry for Tylendel and his own future, but he was still exhausted from the aftereffects of the Gate Spell, and it wasn’t long before he fell into an uneasy slumber, although thankfully this time without dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

“He’s worse off than we thought,” the woman in green Healer’s robes said, after taking a fortifying and unladylike gulp of the wine Savil handed her. “He’s as fixated on revenge as before, and absolutely nothing I tried to reverse those thought patterns worked. At this point, it’s like trying to change the course of a river.” She shook her head. “And to pile snow on the mountain, he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t need Gala anymore, he doesn’t even care if she repudiates him. I don’t know if even Lancir can help him anymore.”

Vanyel glanced back at the workroom door, pondering that. _He doesn’t care if Gala repudiates him? He used to say she was the sister of his soul. He loves her—for longer than he’s loved me, and she saved him from his family._

 _And what if she_ does _repudiate him? Maybe he thinks he doesn’t care—but if she_ does _—oh gods, what will it do to him? I’ve got to see him. Maybe if I talk to him…_

“I’m not sure if this will work,” the Mindhealer continued, “but I want Vanyel to talk to him. I’ll coach him, tell him what to say, but if there’s anyone left who has any chance of getting through to Tylendel, it’s him.”

* * *

Tylendel sat at the workroom table, ignoring the plate of food Savil had brought, as well as the pile of blankets. She had also been kind enough to leave him a chamber pot when he’d asked to use the privy. That had been a ruse of course, and he’d known Savil wouldn’t fall for it—but he had tried anyway. Whatever remorse he may have felt had vanished completely, and even the worry of Gala repudiating him was muted. _Let her do what she wants. Dammit, I don’t need her. I still have Vanyel—we’re lifebonded now._ He _understands,_ he _was the only one who was willing to help me. I don’t need her. I don’t._ He lifted his head at the sound of the door creaking slowly open, and he glared at it, expecting another visit from the Mindhealer and Savil, and prepared to tell them, _again_ , to take a long walk. He wasn’t crazy—he was justified. _They_ were the crazy ones, for letting Evan Leshara and his family of vipers get away with murdering Staven.

But it wasn’t a Mindhealer. That was Vanyel in the doorway—“ _Ashke_!” Tylendel blurted, rising from his seat. “Oh Van, you’re all right!” Vanyel stepped in the room and the door closed behind him. Tylendel took him in his arms, clutching him tightly. “They said you weren't hurt—but I didn’t know—Van, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the Gate would drain you so fast—“

“Shush, now, I’m fine, really," Vanyel reassured.

Tylendel certainly wasn’t. His skin was almost transparent, he was so pale, his eyes were sunken and dark circled, his hair was lank. He almost looked as if he was still in Backlash shock. _He’s well enough now, surely. It’s too late for him to have a relapse, isn’t it?_ But doubt still nagged at him. He eyed the plate of food, still untouched, and raised an eyebrow.

“Is that really a plate of food over there?” He glanced back at Lendel. “And you haven’t eaten it yet? Pinch me, I must be dreaming,” he teased, trying calm himself as much as his lover.

“I don’t want it,” Lendel replied.

“You don’t want it, but you need it. Eat.” Vanyel said, sternly.

Tylendel glared back at him, sullen. Vanyel pressed on. “You haven’t eaten in gods know how long. You’ve been through a lot, and you _still_ aren’t completely recovered from Backlash shock. I’m not just going to just stand here and watch you waste away. Now are you going to eat, or do I have to feed you?”

For a moment Tylendel glowered, but then he relaxed with a sad half-smile, and rested his forehead against Van’s.

“Ah, _ashke_ , what would I do without you, eh?”

Another raised eyebrow. “Starve, most likely.”

“Alright, alright.” He sat back down and pulled the plate over to him, looking at it disdainfully. It had probably been fine when they first brought it to him, but in the hours since, the boiled lentils and vegetables had congealed into a gooey mess, and that piece of—was it beef?—was likely the texture of boot leather. He took a bite though, and even though it was just as awful as he’d expected, his appetite finally reawakened. Vanyel came over and sat on the edge of the table. For a while he said nothing, just watched Lendel. Finally he pushed the plate away. Van noted with amusement that he had left all the carrots. _He never did like carrots, he thought,_ trying to ignore the worry he felt; if the Mindhealer was right then he would probably only have one chance at this. If Tylendel decided that Van was against him too, then there was no one left who could help him. He reached over and snagged one of the carrots, and popped it in his mouth, grimacing at the temperature and texture.

“I don’t know how you stand those,” Lendel remarked.

“They’re better when they’re still a little crunchy.”

Lendel made a face and they both smiled.

Another moment of silence, and Van could sense that Lendel was gathering his thoughts, trying to find the best way to say what was on his mind. Vanyel had a good idea of what he was going to ask.

“Van, you’ve got to help me get out of here,” he blurted, unable to think of anything more articulate. “Who knows what Evan Leshara is up to now—I’ve got to get back there, finish what I started—“

“Lendel,” he interrupted, “Lendel, I know it’s awful, being stuck in here, but you should know—Herald Lancir is still at the Leshara Holding. He’ll keep them from doing anything to your family. And maybe he can find more evidence—“ Lendel eyes went hard suddenly.

“What are you saying, Vanyel?” His voice was filled with malice, and just under that, hurt.

Vanyel faltered at this sudden change. “’Lendel—just listen to me first, will you?” Tylendel crossed his arms, his eyes full of accusation, but willing to hear Vanyel out.

“When you first asked me for help—I was so worried for you, I was willing to do anything for you. And I still am—no matter what happens you have to believe that I love you—but I don’t think you realize how different you are now.” Tylendel's expression didn’t change by so much as a hair. Vanyel felt his heart sinking—he knew how Tylendel must feel. Even now, he was getting the echoes of pain from betrayal. “Tylendel, I’m not betraying you!” he said desperately. “I’m not—what you’ve told the Heralds—the evidence they have now, it’s enough to bring Evan Leshara to trial. He’s going to get what he deserves, and Staven will be avenged—“

“Avenged? How will he be avenged by some godsdamned _trial_? Staven won’t be avenged until I take Evan Leshara’s life, until I destroy his entire family! I want to make him hurt—“ He stood up and advanced on Vanyel, heartache and anger warring with each other in his face. “I want him to know as he’s dying that _I_ have destroyed everything he’s ever built, anyone he’s ever loved, _everything_! His legacy will be nothing but dust and ashes when I have _avenged_ Staven! I thought you understood that.” His voice faltered for a moment and he closed his eyes, and Van thought, for just a moment, that he was going to break down. But then he felt iron resolve from Tylendel, and when his eyes snapped open, Vanyel knew—

“Get out,” Tylendel said, his voice full of controlled fury. “I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone—I’ll find a way to avenge my twin alone.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Vanyel walked out of the workroom, he couldn’t even meet his aunt’s or the Healer’s eyes, and they knew. Savil touched his shoulder and told him to get some rest. He nodded his head numbly and went back to his room, threw his clothes on the floor, crawled in the bed, and for the first time since this whole mess began, cried uncontrollably. How had it come to this? How had Lendel gone from promising to never hurt him, to this? Unbidden, hatred flared for Evan Leshara. He almost wanted to kill the man himself for changing Lendel into— _this_. Gods, he understood how Lendel felt—but still, to have the only other person he loved and trusted other than his sister turn on him like this—he didn’t know how he was ever going to get over this. And what about Lord Withen? Now that Lendel had rejected him, there was no doubt if Withen demanded Vanyel come home, there was nothing Savil could do to stop him. His worried thoughts ran trenches in his mind until he finally fell asleep.

* * *

Tylendel raised his head blearily from the table when the door opened. Savil was there, along with two palace guards. The guards shackled his hands together and he felt the tingle of a spell being cast—Savil, warding him against being able to use his magic.

This was his chance. If he could just figure a way to break the spell, he could escape and finish what he started. Savil was an adept, and a master at set-spells, too, but he’d taught himself the Gate spell, and tied it into another person’s energy at that, something no other mage had managed to accomplish. He could conjure wyrsa.

He could break a gods-be-damned warding spell.

* * *

 

Vanyel sat strait up in the bed. His heart was racing, and he had broken out in a cold sweat. Something was wrong. Something terrible had happened. Something to do with Tylendel.

He threw on his clothes and ran out into the common room. The door to Savil's workroom was wide open.

***

 

Savil was tired and still in pain when she got back to her suite. They had underestimated Tylendel, _again_ , and she was beyond unable to imagine how he had managed to break one of _her_ wards completely on his own. The attack had come out of nowhere, and left the two guards unconscious and her bleeding from her ears and nose.

Savil had a terrible feeling that now that Tylendel felt that he’d been betrayed by Vanyel, and he was truly alone again, he might do the unthinkable—Final Strike against the Leshara.

She and the other Herald Mages had spent the candlemarks after Tylendel’s escape trying to track him. A combination of Heralds and palace guards were sent out to search the countryside, but never found any sign of him. Meanwhile Savil tried to find him through their mindlink; they’d shared power, and he’d given her complete access to his mind. Even if they were too far away to communicate, she’d still always Feel him, and she should be able to find him if he was within fifteen or twenty miles of her. But that proved a dead end as well; he couldn’t completely block her, but he could muck up the link somehow. All she knew was that he was moving steadily south, presumably back to the Leshara. After that she holed up in the palace work room, checking all the ley lines within ten miles of the palace, to see if he’d tapped into one. Either he was working entirely with his own life-energy, or he was masking his power signature somehow—something she’d learned from the Tayledras, but hadn’t yet taught Tylendel. After another meeting with the Heraldic Circle, everyone agreed that a force needed to be sent back to the Leshara Holding. Since without Gala, Tylendel wouldn’t be able to travel quickly, they decided not to Gate, given that they’d already played merry cob with the local energy patterns as it was (and at this point Savil was so exhausted that if they’d told her to build a Gate, she’d have happily told the entire Circle to jump off a cliff.)

And, ah, gods, what was she going to tell Vanyel? She nodded thankfully at the guard as he opened the door for her. Van was under house arrest for the time being, and gods only knew what was going to happen to him now. He hadn’t been formally brought up on charges yet, but eventually he would be. For now, he wasn’t as high a priority. She could only hope that Elspeth would be lenient, given the circumstances. And even if he managed to escape any legal consequences for what he’d done, that still left Withen. And she could imagine well enough what _he_ would do to Vanyel, once he had the chance. Probably put him under house arrest, long enough for people to forget about him, and then send him off to a temple. If he was lucky, as an initiate. The nobility had a long tradition of disposing of unwanted or embarrassing offspring by shipping them off to temples to be trained as priests, whether they had a calling or not. If he _wasn’t_ lucky, then Withen would try to “save” him by sending him to one of the few temples that specialized in cleansing the shay’a’chern. In any case, his life as he knew it was over. And damn, he was already up and waiting for her, and she knew she couldn’t put him off.

“Aunt Savil.” He didn’t say anything after that, but her name was question enough. The palace was buzzing like a hive of bees; he clearly knew something was going on, but holed up in the suite, had no way to find out what.

She sighed deeply, and sat down on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. Vanyel stiffly sat on the edge of the sofa, facing her.

“I’m sorry, Van, I truly am. But Tylendel’s gone—escaped,” she clarified, seeing the flash of fear on his face as he assumed the worst. “We’re trying to find him, but,” she paused and rubbed her tired eyes. “He’s just too clever. All we know is that he’s heading back south, _not_ with a Gate this time; I’m keeping an eye on the energy patterns from here to the Leshara holding, and if he tried to Gate, I’d know.”

Vanyel’s expression was slowly settling back into one she was all too familiar with. That coldness was slipping back into his features, the haughty blankness that she knew from Tylendel was the only way he knew to cope with fear or sadness.

“In the morning,” she continued, feeling slightly unnerved by Vanyel’s apparent lack of reaction, “a group of us are riding out to the holding; just Heralds, no Guards. We want to get there are fast as possible, and Guards would only slow us. I think it might be a good idea for you to come with us, though.” _That_ got just a hint of startlement out of him.

“I think there might still be a chance we can reason with him. Or at least, I’m willing to hold out hope. Pack lightly, alright? And get some sleep. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

As she left him sitting on the sofa and headed to her bedroom, she mindtouched Kellan.

 _Yes?:_ was her immediate reply.

 _:Do you think you can carry double, me and Vanyel, to the holding?:_ if Kellan didn’t think she could, then that would certainly pose a problem.

 _:I was_ wondering _when you were going to discuss this ill-advised idea with me,:_ was her Companion’s rather irritated reply.

 _:Kellan, please, can you or can’t you?:_

 _:Shouldn’t be a problem,:_ she said, unhappy. _:The both of you are so scrawny that together you almost make a normal sized person. Hope he can stay on, though; riding pillion is difficult enough as it is, without going at a Companion’s pace.:_

 _Good. And thank you, love.:_

 _:Do you mind telling me any ulterior motives you have, dearest? For some reason I’m quite certain you weren’t being completely ingenuous when you told your nephew he was coming with us.:_

Savil sighed deeply as she stripped off her clothes, and decided she was too tired to bother about a bath, though she wanted one.

 _:I’m doing this as much for Van’s protection as trying to help Lendel. I want to keep him away from Withen, and if I leave him here with someone else, and Withen storms in? I doubt Elspeth would think twice about handing him over. And well, you know what’s likely to happen to him then.:_

Kellan, now deep in her Chosen’s mind, did. And she shared Savil’s sentiment that nobody, no _child_ , deserved that fate.

 _:And besides, there really is a chance Vanyel can still get through to Tylendel. It’s remote. But we can’t afford to ignore any possibility of ending this without,:_ she stopped for a moment, unable to contemplate the worst possible outcome. _:Without drastic measures,:_ she finished neutrally.

 _:I see. Well, you’ve convinced me, love. But good luck convincing the others. Elspeth with be royally pissed when she finds out you’ve taken him—I presume we’re planning on begging forgiveness after the fact than risking being denied permission in the first place?:_

 _:Indeed. I don’t know if any of them are willing to believe that Vanyel could still be the key to resolving this without violence.:_

 _:Hmmm. Well, Heralds may be some of the most boneheaded creatures in existence,:_ Savil interrupted her with a snort of derision. _:But I can make the Companions see sense. I’ll talk to everyone who’s going. That should make things easier in the morning, after you kick the hornet’s nest.:_

***

If Vanyel had ever tried to contemplate how his life could possibly be worse than it had been at Forst Reach, he could never have imagined this scenario. He had been unwelcome before, but at least no one had _known_ about his sexual preferences, and no one actually wanted to hurt him, outside of weapons practice, anyroad. But here, at the Leshara holding? Besides the fact that he’d not made himself very popular with the “working” members of the Court, thanks to his faux feud with Tylendel, they were no few of them who held some deep prejudices against same sex pairings. And that was just the _Heralds_. Savil had advised him not to wander by himself, because it was a very real possibility that at least a few of the Leshara might be willing to risk the consequences of harming him. Or worse, so he stayed in the closet sized room he’d been given. It had a connecting door to Savil’s room, and he kept both doors barred at all times. Savil brought all his meals, and walked with him to the privies several times a day, which was humiliating, but necessary, given the dark and meaningful looks everyone kept sending him.

Add to that the torture of being completely uncertain of where Tylendel was, or what he was planning. It was going on six days they’d been at the Keep, and eight since…since. Everyone was on the knife’s edge, and arguments over inconsequential matters were becoming more and more common, even among the Heralds. There were even factions of the Leshara who wanted to hand over Lord Evan to Tylendel, not realizing Evan would only be the _first_ to die.

It was almost impossible for Vanyel to sleep unless he’d worried himself into complete exhaustion. He often stayed up nights, staring out the window, trying to pray—if the gods truly existed, then it seemed they were content to ignore his plight, but he couldn’t quite let go of his last shred of hope that it might do some good—or imagining a different life. One where Staven was never killed, and Tylendel was never driven insane, and Withen let Vanyel abdicate his title and they were happy together. He was caught in the middle of one such fantasy when he caught sight of a shadow darting across the courtyard out of the corner of his eye. He focused on it, a spark of some unnamed emotion igniting in his heart. But as he looked closer, it became clear that it wasn’t Tylendel. The figure was too small, and besides, it was moving away from the keep. It looked like one of the Leshara was making a break for it.

 _What does this damn fool think he’s doing?_ Van thought. He was absolutely certain that Tylendel would find this boy, no matter how clever at tracking he thought he was. _What should I do?_ he wondered. Getting his aunt seemed the prudent thing. But his churning thoughts were starting to coalesce into a single idea. It was just beneath the surface, so fragile, so crazy that he dared not voice it even to himself, just yet. As silently as he could manage, he dressed, selecting dark clothes to help him blend in with his surroundings, and crept out. It was a close thing; there weren’t many people about this late, but there were a few knots of people, gathered in groups, talking fervently amongst themselves. _Probably the “sacrifice Lord Evan” factions, plotting_ , he thought with derision. There were plenty of guards, including some Heralds, patrolling outside the keep, but he managed to avoid them. All those months of actually paying attention in weapons practice were paying off, it seemed. Not to mention they weren’t exactly expecting and guarding against ordinary people trying to _leave_ the Keep.

Once out of sight, he made a beeline for the last place he had seen the boy. He _was_ a decent enough tracker, it seemed, but Vanyel was an experienced hunter, himself, one of the few “manly” pursuits he actually enjoyed and was good at, and he managed to pick up the trail quickly enough.

He was so intent on following it that when he heard the scream, he nearly jumped out of his own skin.

Vanyel ran strait toward it, praying that he wasn’t too late, that Lendel hadn’t done the unthinkable, that he wasn’t too far gone to be saved. He came bursting out of the woods into a clearing made by a fallen tree, and found them frozen in a hellish tableau: Lendel’s was face illuminated with crimson mage light; the Leshara boy, who couldn’t be more than thirteen, was held off the ground by an unseen force, pressed against a tree. His face was twisted with terror, but it didn’t look as if he was hurt—yet.

Tylendel didn’t take his eyes off the boy as he growled, “Leave. Now.”

Van gasped, holding his side, “Tylendel, _please_ , don’t do this. It’s not too late—“

Tylendel turned to face Van, his expression bitter. “I _don’t want to hurt you_ , Vanyel. You need to go. Get out of here!” he yelled, and turned back to face the boy. He raised his hands, and raw power crackled around them.

“Lendel, _no_!” he ran and put himself between Lendel and the boy. “I can’t let you do this.”

There was the sound of something large moving through the forest, and suddenly Gala was with them in the clearing, rearing and crying out. She moved to stand with Vanyel, and he extended his hand and rested it on her shoulder. She wasn’t speaking, or at least, not so he could hear this time, but he could Feel her intent and resolve. She would not let Tylendel harm anyone.

“Both of you, move.” Tylendel’s voice was low and dangerous.

“You’ll have to kill me first to get to him, Tylendel.” The words surprised Vanyel even as he spoke them; he actually _meant_ it. If Tylendel really _was_ willing to kill him, then he _wanted_ to die.

Tylendel didn’t move. Tears were streaking his face, but he didn’t appear to notice them. His face went from rage to frustration to grief. Vanyel didn’t know how long they stood like that before he realized he was crying, too.

“ _Damn you_ ,” Tylendel managed to choke out. “Damn you.” He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, sobs wracking his body. The boy fell to the ground, so shaken that it took him a moment to realize his chance to flee.

Gala stayed where she was, pawing the ground in agitation. Vanyel dared to approach Tylendel, and held out his hand.

 _Please, let this be it. Let him see_.

“Lendel,” he whispered. “Please.” He wasn’t even certain what was he was asking for, for Tylendel to suddenly be alright again, or to want him back, or to just let Vanyel touch him. His fingers brushed Lendel’s hair; it was matted, oily, dirty. Tylendel seemed to crumple, and Van went to his knees and took him in his arms. He held Tylendel as he sobbed, and he Felt Tylendel’s confusion. How could someone he loved do this to him? He didn’t know what to do—he loved Staven, he always would, but he loved Van, and Gala too. And no matter how far gone he was, no matter how much they had hurt and betrayed him by siding with the Leshara, he could never, ever hurt either of them. Not like that.

Now that Tylendel was open to Vanyel again, he knew the right words to say.

“Lendel,” Van said, desperate for him to hear, to understand. “I know that you love Staven. And he didn’t deserve what happened. And I know it was so horrible for you to have to live through it with him. But what he asked of you was _wrong_ , Tylendel. I know you love him, and he was a good person, but he was _wrong_.” He pulled away slightly, so he could look at Tylendel’s face, try to read him, see if he was reaching him. Gala appeared next to him, her nose brushing Tylendel’s cheek, anger gone, and her grief at what had happened, her remorse for her part in it, unintentional though it was, was palpable.

“Lendel, _please_.” He closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against Lendel’s. “I need you so much. I—I’m sorry, I—“ and his throat closed up completely, and even if he _could_ have said more, he didn’t know what else to say. He tried to make Lendel _Feel_ what he was feeling—feel how much he still loved him, how he just wanted to make things right again.

Tylendel gasped, shuddered, and suddenly went still. Vanyel looked into his eyes, and they were horrified. He covered his mouth with his hands, and fresh tears spilled over his cheeks as the magnitude of what he had done, what he had _almost_ done, finally hit him. Van could feel self loathing and disgust wash over him, and he stroked Lendel’s hair, and made shushing noises, rocking him back and forth, like his old nurse had done when he was small and needed comforting, while Gala folded her legs and wrapped her body around the both of them, protecting them.

It was clear that there was still a long way to go, as far as full recovery was concerned. But Tylendel was back to his senses at last.


	5. Chapter 5

“That was a _damn_ fool thing you did, Vanyel.”

Van raised his head defiantly. “But it turned out to be the _right_ thing.”

Savil could only sigh and shake her head. It was morning, and they were all camped out in the same clearing they’d found the boys in. They deemed it prudent to not bring Tylendel back to the keep, all things considered. It was cold—but not brutally so. They made do with some salvaged tents and blankets, and of course there was never any trouble getting a fire going, with so many mages around. It wasn’t the most comfortable setting for an interrogation, but it wasn’t the worst. And at least everything had come to a conclusion with no bloodshed. And Lancir was here, and was able to take advantage of the window of opportunity to change Tylendel’s damaged thought patterns. He was hopeful that, given enough time, Tylendel’s mind would be whole again.

She looked up and met Vanyel’s eye, and smiled weakly. “Aye. It did. And I’m grateful.”

Vanyel’s face softened, and he looked almost as if he was going to reach out to her. He looked away, and seemed about to say something, but was struggling to get it out. Finally he raised his head, and met her eyes again.

“Aunt, I, thank you.” He swallowed. “For—before. When Tylendel and I first—for not telling my father. And for letting us be together.” He dropped his head, seeming to struggle again. Savil thought that now he might finally be opening up to her, and she risked walking over to his side of the fire, and sitting down next to him. She wrapped her arm around his bony shoulders, and held him close to her. She could feel the tension in him, the occasional, very faint tremors that wracked his body as he fought with himself. But he finally, finally relaxed, and leaned into her embrace, sighing and resting his head on her shoulder.

“Everything will turn out alright, love. You’ll see,” she said, trying her best to reassure him.

“But Father—“ he choked out.

“You leave Withen to me.” She gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Even if you weren’t so important to Tylendel, you’ve become important to me,” she said softly, fighting her own tears. “Don’t you know that? I’m not minded to let him take you away from us.”

Lancer exited the tent they were holding Tylendel in. He looked tired and done to death, but hopeful.

“Well, Lance?” Savil asked, secretly pleased that Vanyel hadn’t pulled himself away from her already. He’d always been quick to put some distance between himself and Lendel whenever she’d caught them together.

“The prognosis is cautiously optimistic. I’ve made a great deal of headway into changing his aberrant thought patterns—that was a brilliant piece of work you did, youngling, planting the idea that his twin was wrong. I’ve been able to work a lot from that. And I’m not sure he would have accepted it, coming from me or Savil.” He nodded at them. “But he still needs a lot of help, and time, to come to terms with the things he did. Our biggest obstacle now is working towards self forgiveness. He’s in a hell of an emotional state.” He snorted. “And we’re going to be in a hell of a legal mess, too.”

“Just thank the gods no one was actually _killed_ , or even injured. As it is—Valdemar law holds that a madman can’t be penalized for his crimes—surely you can prove that he wasn’t in his right mind at the time.”

“You think that there’s any doubt that he actually _was_ mad?” Lancir scoffed. “Be that as it may, the Leshara sure as hell won’t leave it at that, you can count on it. We’ll be dealing with the effects of this for a long time to come.”

Vanyel felt deeply ashamed. He knew none of this would have happened if he hadn’t helped Tylendel in the first place. And now it looked like they’d made trouble for the whole kingdom. _And what if they decide to come after the Ashkevrons now? Gods know there’s no love lost between me and my kin, but I don’t want any of them to be hurt or killed, especially because of something_ I _did_.

“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” Lancir continued. “If you feel up to it, lad, I think he’d like to see you.”

Van stood, and nodded his head at the Herald and his aunt, and walked over to the tent; Gala was standing guard. She nodded at him, and on impulse, he stroked her nose in greeting. She nuzzled his palm before shaking her head in the direction of the tent, her meaning clear. He scratched lightly at the rough fabric, and after a moment, pushed back the flap. Tylendel was sitting cross legged right in the middle. He looked up, briefly, and managed a sad smile, before casting his eyes downward again. Vanyel wasn’t sure what to make of this. He didn’t know what to do, or say, to make things better. He awkwardly sat beside Lendel, and made as if to reach out to him, but second guessed himself. He hated this—how things were different now. He realized for the first time that things would _always_ be different. There was no going back to the way they had been.

Sighing, he let his arm drop. They sat in silence for gods knows how long, before Tylendel cleared his throat. Vanyel glanced over at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he was going to say something. Tylendel took a deep breath, and fidgeted with the fringe on the carpet he was sitting on.

“Van, um.” He paused, seeming unable to find the words. “I want—I—“ his face crumbled, but he quickly regained control, and continued. “Thank you.” He rasped out. “For stopping me.”

“Oh, Lendel, no,” Van murmured, unthinkingly reaching up to stroke Tylendel’s hair. “No, everything’s _my_ fault, if I hadn’t—“

Tylendel shook his head. “But I asked you. I did more than that, Vanyel,” his voice was filled with shame and resolve. “I knew exactly what to say, what to do, to make sure you said yes. I even projected my Empathy on you. I as good as forced you—“ his voice broke, and he lost his veneer of control, and let his head hang even further as he cried quietly.

Vanyel suddenly realized any reassurances he could offer were useless. They were _lies_. Tylendel was right. And before he could begin to heal himself, to forgive himself, he needed to know that Van forgave him.

It was the easiest thing in the world to take Tylendel into his arms, press his face into Lendel’s hair and tell him, over and over, that it was alright, that he forgave him, and he still loved him. Tylendel leaned into his embrace, body limp, exhausted from his session with Lancir, from the cold, from lack of sleep. Vanyel was still able to Feel everything Tylendel felt, and while it was still unnerving, he thought he was starting to get used to it. He Felt when Tylendel finally went to sleep, and he laid back, curling up on his side and pulling Tylendel close to him, and finally let himself slip off to sleep as well.


	6. Chapter 6

The journey back to the capitol had been rough, to say the least. All Vanyel could be thankful for was that it was too cold for fleas and ticks. Some of the inns and waystations they’d stayed in would certainly be teeming with wee beasties in the warmer months. As it was, he wanted a hot bath, _several_ cups of tea, and to sleep in his bed for a solid week. And a shave; this was a _perfect_ time for his beard to start growing. Tylendel was looking scruffy, too, although Van had lately decided he liked Tylendel with facial hair; a well trimmed beard would make him even more handsome. And sometimes it felt nice, the rough scrape of stubble when they kissed. Although on himself he suspected any facial hair would look utterly ridiculous.

Gods, he was tired. His mind kept wandering—to speculate on beards, of all things, at a time like this. He could barely remember entering the city gates, and the ride through Haven seemed a blur. Now they were at the Palace gates, and the guard was telling Savil that Tylendel was to be taken into the custody of Healer’s Collegium immediately, and another guard whisked him away before they could even say goodbye to each other. Vanyel was placed under arrest, but was granted parole, and another guard was assigned to _him_ , and had to go with him everywhere he went. For a moment he was afraid he would be bound, but they didn’t seem to think that was necessary. _Thank the gods for small mercies_ , he thought dispiritedly.

Vanyel was in his room, trying to get himself as clean as he could with the water in his wash basin and a cloth, since he wasn’t minded to let his warden not only escort him to the bathing room, but watch him bathe as well. As he was toweling off, he heard the front door open, and then a man’s voice. He shamelessly pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear everything.

The man’s voice seemed familiar; he thought it was one of the Heralds who’d interrogated him, but he couldn’t place who it belonged to, and they were too indistinct to make out what they were saying. But then the man’s voice moved closer, as if he were pacing while he talked.

It was Tantras, the Seneschal’s Herald. As he moved closer, his voice became more distinct. As he’d suspected, they were talking about _him_.

“…afraid he won’t be able to expect much in the way of leniency. Since you’re certain the Healers can prove that Tylendel was insane, the queen will probably drop the charges. Not to mention the fact that his Gifts are too valuable to waste, especially with the Karse situation. But Vanyel is a different matter. The Leshara are out for blood, Savil. And the queen is furious. Nearly everyone blames Vanyel for the whole thing, and he hasn’t done himself any favors, as far as the Heraldic Circle and privy council are concerned. She’s having her legal aides draft even tougher laws against feuding, and I’m afraid that she means to make an example of Vanyel.”

He heard his aunt’s muffled voice.

“I wish I knew.” Tantras voice sounded like he was genuinely sympathetic. “I _can_ tell you that execution is out of the question, since they didn’t actually kill anyone; and anyway even when she’s this angry she’s not going to sentence anyone to death, especially not a sixteen year old. I personally don’t think it’s right or fair to pin all of this on him. But Elspeth’s made up her mind, and I doubt even Lancir can sway her.”

Savil’s voice again, and now Tantras’s was getting fainter. Finally the door opened and closed.

Vanyel rested his head against the door, feeling weaker than the journey warranted. Had execution _really_ been a possibility? If he were two years older, or if they’d actually managed to kill Lord Evan…gods in glory, how was he this stupid? Of course if they’d killed anyone, they’d be executed. Or they’d have to run, live the rest of their lives as fugitives. Maybe even leave Valdemar.

Even barring execution, that still didn’t mean his fate tomorrow would be more pleasant than that. Would he be sent to prison? And for how long? Required to perform an act of public service? He doubted the queen would think that was a good enough punishment, unless she thought of some truly menial and disgusting task. What if he was exiled? Even if it was only for a year, it would be unbearable to be away from Tylendel, even Savil for that long.

Gods, he was too exhausted to worry about it anymore. He thought about going to the common room to get something to eat, but he didn’t think he could deal with his aunt right now. He didn’t have much strength left, and he would need it all to face the queen tomorrow. So he pulled back the covers, and crawled into bed, and tried not to miss Tylendel too much.

 

***

The hallways were packed with minor nobles and merchants and their retainers. Trials and sentencings were great entertainment; the trials of the nobility even more so. Vanyel felt his skin begin to crawl from being under their scrutiny. He was glad he’d decided that in disgrace or not, he was still highborn, and dressed accordingly. He didn’t know if he could have borne it, being forced to come to his own trial dressed in rags and covered with grime.

The great hall was filled to capacity, and as he walked to the front of the room he saw many of the young people he knew from Court there. The ones who would meet his eyes were full of contempt and disgust. He straightened his spine and walked on, using all of his reserves of strength to make it through the gauntlet. He suddenly wondered if his father had had time to make the journey from Forst Reach. Gods, he hoped not. He hoped Savil made sure he never had to see or speak to Withen ever again.

He was brought before the full council, including the Heraldic Circle. None of them smiled, or seemed as if they had any sympathy whatsoever. Vanyel met their glowering faces with disdain. If they expected him to cower and beg for their mercy, they had a long wait ahead of them.

***

 _Dammit, lad, you’re not doing yourself any favors with this act,_ Savil thought. _I know you must be terrified, but if you have any chance of them going easy on you, you’d better show some humility. Make them believe you’re sorry._ She was afraid for her nephew, and Tylendel. She had no idea what Elspeth was planning to do, but Savil hoped that she realized that exile was out of the question, if she expected Tylendel to _stay_ sane. Savil had tried to reassure Vanyel, but he’d just given her a small, sad smile as the guards led him away.

Then the trial finally began. He was being charged with conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to use forbidden magic, and being involved in an unlawful feud. _Thank the gods Elspeth is loathe to execute people, regardless of age,_ Savil thought. If this were any other court he’d likely face a death sentence, minor or not.

Savil was the first to testify, and she did her best, and she hoped that she wouldn’t be the only one to do so in Vanyel’s _defense_.

Then came a few others from the Court, some Healers, and even Lancir himself, who was of the opinion that Tylendel may have used his Empathy on Vanyel, to manipulate him into doing what Tylendel wanted. There was some doubt expressed as to whether his Gift of Empathy was strong enough to influence people, but she knew that Elspeth would realize that if Lancir was saying it, he believed it a likely possibility.

It seemed to be over too quickly. The Council couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes to deliberate, which just went to show that the outcome had been decided long before the trial began. Savil braced herself for the verdict as Elspeth stood.

“Through the evidence presented, and by his own confession, Lord Vanyel Ashkevron is found guilty of all charges against him. Even though he is young, his actions still caused grave harm.” Her voice rang out clear, every word calculated and pronounced with authority. She paused, eyeing Vanyel, who met her gaze squarely. “We therefore sentence Lord Vanyel to be stripped of his title and the privileges due to his birth rank. From this day forth he is banned from the Royal Court, and shall never be allowed to hold land within Valdemar or it’s territories, nor shall he ever hold office, or be granted an officer’s commission in the Royal Army. This is my will, and take heed, people of Valdemar: The only justice in this kingdom is _my_ justice.”

***

Vanyel was too numb to even think about what had just happened. He was still in a daze as he was remanded back into Savil’s custody, and led out of the great hall. _This is the last time I will ever be in this room._ Savil grabbed his arm and steered him toward a side door, not saying anything, clearly wanting to escape from the press of people.

No doubt the other nobles were horrified. Most of them would consider being stripped of their rank and privilege just barely preferable to execution. _They actually believe they’re_ punishing _me._ The queen and everyone else probably thought he would be in despair at the thought of having to _earn_ a living, and would have absolutely no idea how, or skills to do so. But Vanyel was no longer bound by his birthright, shackled to the lives and cares of the tenants of Forst Reach. He’d been hoping for this day from the moment he opened himself up to Tylendel.

He found himself in Savil’s suite without even realizing they had made it home. Savil went strait to the sideboard and poured a tiny glass of spirits of wine, and drained it with a grimace. “Bright and holy gods, that’s finally over.” She collapsed on the sofa.

“That actually could have been worse, you know,” she said to him as he joined her.

Her tone seemed conciliatory, like she thought he was—or would be, once the reality sank in—upset about it.

He didn’t bother correcting her. He wasn’t sure if he could explain it, and he was still so damn tired. Now that it was over, he just wanted to see Tylendel again, curl up with him in their bed and sleep for the next hundred years.

“Van? You all right?”

He leaned his head back and sighed. “I will be.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days were a blur of inactivity. Vanyel had no desire to leave the suite and be pointed at and gossiped about. He certainly didn’t go to Evan Leshara’s execution. He’d ventured out once, the day after his trial, to see Tylendel, but he was turned away. They said Lendel wasn’t allowed visitors until his evaluation was over, and they would certainly let him know when it was. Dispirited, he barely left his room, and hardly ate. He knew Savil was concerned about him, but he had no reassurances to offer. Until he was allowed to see Tylendel again, and see for himself that he was getting better, he couldn’t muster enough energy to bother about anything.

Early in the evening, the third day after his trial, Vanyel and Savil were at the table, eating a quiet dinner together when a violent pounding on the front door startled them both. Savil jumped up and rushed to see who it was. Vanyel’s sluggish mind was suddenly racing, fearing Tylendel had taken a sudden turn for the worse, or that the palace was on fire. The door opened, and his father’s intimidating bulk was outlined by the lanterns in the hall.

“Withen!” Savil cried out in shock.

“Where is he?” Withen demanded. “Where is that boy?” He took a step forward but Savil planted her feet and stopped him with an outstretched arm.

“It’s all right, Aunt.” Vanyel stood up and walked to stand behind her. “Let him in. I should have known I couldn’t avoid him forever.”

“Are you sure, Van? You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to.”

“Now look here, Savil,” Withen began.

“No, _you_ look here. _Queen Elspeth herself_ placed him in my custody. If you feel like challenging her ruling, then by all means, try it. But for the time being _I_ am Vanyel’s legal guardian, and—“

“Aunt, please!” Van had to practically shout to get their attention. “Let him in.” He took a deep breath, not at all feeling like he had the strength to deal with Withen, but knowing he had to.

Savil reluctantly stepped back and Withen stormed in.

“Just _what in the hell_ have you been playing at, boy? Have you been deliberately _trying_ to destroy the family name, or are you just an imbecile?” His voice rose with every word, and his face was turning an amazing shade of purple. “It wasn’t bad enough you had to take up with that—that _boy_ , then you had to involve yourself in this mess! You’ve piled shame on top of shame, and I don’t even know _how_ I dared to show my face at the palace! You—“

“Of course,” Vanyel interrupted. He smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Of course that’s all you care about.” Withen was too shocked that Vanyel had dared to interrupt him to regain his train of thought and continue his tirade.

“You care more about your precious reputation than me. Hell, you care about almost _anything_ more than me. Your good name, your horses, your _farmers_ ,” he spat. “Why should it be any different now?”

“You _dare_ to raise your voice to me after what you’ve done? There’s not a god you can pray to that will save you from what’s waiting for you at home, you ungrateful whelp! I—“

“ _Grateful_? You expect me to be _grateful_ to you? For _what_ , exactly?” Vanyel was shouting, his own face flushed with anger, and he actually advanced on Withen.

Withen, completely unprepared for his son to actually defy him, almost instinctively pulled back his arm and backhanded Vanyel across the face. He fell to the floor, stunned. He lay on his hands and knees for a moment, regaining his senses, before he stood up. Blood trickled from a gash on his upper lip. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and stared at it for a moment, while Withen looked on, not saying anything. Vanyel looked up, meeting his father’s eyes, and his rage went cold. He approached Withen once more, holding out his bloody hand.

“Does it make you feel better?” he asked, voice low. “Does it make you feel more like a _man_?” he said bitterly. “I bet you want to do it again, don’t you.” He didn’t stop until they were almost touching. “Go ahead. Hit me. Put me in my place.” Withen did nothing, but almost seemed ashamed. Never before had he struck _any_ of his children in anger.

“I said _hit me_ , dammit!” He shoved at Withen, suddenly aggressive. “Hit me; I can take it! You used to let Jervis beat me until I couldn’t stand! Go ahead, _make a man of me_! What’s wrong with you? You’re willing to let Jervis pound on me but you can’t do it yourself? Come on, do it! Break my arm again!”

Savil, unable to take anymore, came up behind Vanyel and gently pulled him away. “You need to go,” she told her brother, with as much icy venom as she could manage. Without saying a word, Withen turned and left, gently closing the door.

Vanyel broke away from Savil, and almost ran into his room, slamming the door. She debated with herself for half a second before following him. She opened his bedroom door in time to see him hurl a helmet across the room, nearly hitting the window. Next he threw a book, and it hit the wall with enough force to rip it from its binding, the cover hanging by a few threads. He stared at the wall, fury and anguish on his face. “It doesn’t help.” He walked backwards until he ran into the wall. “Nothing helps,” he said hollowly, sliding down and covering his face with his hands. His body began shaking with sobs.

Savil sank down on the floor next to him and put her arm around his shoulders; she was completely at a loss for what to say. She had never been good with words, at saying what she felt. So she just held him, and let him cry. She rocked back and forth, stroking his hair, rubbing his shoulder, doing what she could to soothe him.

“I wish I could just hate him,” he said, after he’d cried himself out.

“No, no, kechara,” she said, using the pet name she normally reserved for Tylendel. “No you don’t. The Tayledras have a saying; _hatred is a sickness, forgiveness its only cure_. I know you can’t see it, but in his own way, Withen loves you. You just confound him.”

Vanyel scoffed, “No, he doesn’t. At least not since I was old enough for him to realize how much of a disappointment I was. What kind of love is that? If he does, I don’t want it. I don’t want _him_. I never want to see him again.”

“You don’t have to. I doubt he’s going to petition Elspeth to regain custody of you, after what just happened. But if he tries it, I promise I’ll fight him. Now come on, kechara, you’re all over blood.”

Vanyel let Savil fuss over his lip, and she decided it was unlikely to need stitches.

“Do you want to finish dinner?”

Van just shook his head. “I think I just want to go to bed.”

She sighed, “I’ve lost my appetite, too. Goodnight, then. It’s still early; I think I’ll go visit some of my friends who’ve studied law, though. I want to be prepared _if_ your father turns out to be thick enough to try and get you back, after all.”

She left, closing the door behind her. Vanyel didn’t bother lighting any candles; the faint light coming through the window was enough to undress by. He banked the coals in the brazier, and put his helmet back on the armor stand, and inspected the book. It was a second hand volume of poetry that Tylendel had brought back from a foray into the city. Sometimes he recited from it. He said it was depressing to read a love poem by yourself; the only way you could really enjoy it was to read it to the person you loved. He flipped through the worn pages, tucked it back inside its cover and returned it to his writing desk.

As he pulled down the covers and got into bed, he decided he was tired of sleeping alone.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well, Lance?” Savil asked by way of greeting. A page had delivered Lancir’s request to meet him in his office only moments ago, and Savil, never very tactful, was too anxious to bother with social niceties.

“Tylendel _is_ making progress,” Lance replied, unperturbed. He motioned for her to take a seat, not being one to stand on formality, himself. “I think we can start allowing visitors, although I hesitate to let him back into your custody just yet. But I do believe that there’s no reason he can’t be fit for duty, one day.”

She sighed deeply as she sat down. “Gods, that’s a relief. And I’m glad I can finally give Vanyel some good news.”

“How is you nephew these days? I hope he’s not taking what happened too hard.”

“You know,” she said speculatively. “He hasn’t shown any sign of being upset. At first, I put it down to being in shock, but now I’m not so sure. I wonder if he isn’t _glad_ about it, sometimes.”

“Hmmm. Well, given that we’re dealing with a lifebond, maybe that’s not so surprising. It’s not so difficult to believe that he’d choose love over duty, or privilege, for that matter, given the circumstances.”

“Wait, _what_? A _lifebond_?” she repeated in shock.

Lancir raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “So it would seem. I’ve spent enough time in Tylendel’s mind to be fairly certain of it, even though they’re as unlikely a pair as any of us could imagine.”

Savil nodded as the information sank in. “It very well could explain how Tylendel was able to use Vanyel’s energy to build a Gate. So far that’s the only solution that even remotely makes sense. Lifebonds are on so deep a level, and so little is known about how and why they form...and when Tylendel was still sick with Backlash shock, it was damn uncanny sometimes how Van would just _know_ when he was about to wake up, or having a nightmare. At the time I thought it must be projective Empathy, and Vanyel was simply picking up on it better.”

Lance nodded. “Sounds like typical newly bonded behavior to me, being hyperaware of each other. And it would also explain how easily Tylendel was able to influence Van into doing what he wanted.”

“Well, glad about the situation or not, I have no idea what to _do_ with him, now. He’s too old by far to start learning a trade, and that’s assuming there’s anybody in the whole of Haven who would be willing to take him on as an apprentice.”

“Hmph. It’s a pickle of a situation, alright. Has he mentioned anything to you? Does he have any interests, things he’s good at?”

She shrugged. “I know he loves music, and Breda said he’s good, but…” she trailed off, looking doubtful.

“But good luck finding anyone in the whole of Valdemar willing to be his patron. And without patronage, he won’t have much of a future as a Bard.”

“Exactly. It’s _impossible_.”

Lance chuckled. “Well, at least he has two years before he’s of age. I suppose that’s time enough to find a vocation.”

Savil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Two years he’ll be in k’Treva with me and Lendel.”

“k’Treva? The _Hawkbrothers_?”

“Yes. I’d been planning on taking Tylendel there for training, probably some time next year. But I think as soon as he’s fit, we’ll leave. And with this business with the lifebond, I suppose I can hardly expect him to leave without Vanyel, can I?”

Lancir nodded slowly, speculation written on his features. “I think that’s probably the best thing for them both right now, to be honest. Some time away, to give them a chance to heal. With some time and distance, their situation may not be as dire as seems now.”

“I hope you’re right. In any case, with the way Tylendel’s mage gift has been developing, it would have been sooner rather than later, anyway. Do you have any sort of estimate of how long it will take before he can leave?”

He shook his head in disappointment. “No, unfortunately. How fast he heals depends entirely on him.”

Savil shrugged. “Well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. I think I’ll be off, then, if that’s all?”

“Oh, yes, sorry to keep you. By the way, if either you or Vanyel want to stop by Healer’s and see Tylendel, any time today is fine. We’re done with sessions for the day.”

“Thank you, Lance,” she said, heartfelt.

***

 _Healers or not, I am_ going _to see Lendel today,_ Van thought fiercely. Wasn’t three days enough? He was starting to feel like he was losing his mind, Feeling Tylendel in the nearby Healer’s Collegium but not being able to see him, and not knowing how he actually _was_.

But maddeningly, he was still feeling indecisive. It wasn’t as if he could actually force them to let him see Tylendel, could he? But what if they had simply forgotten about him? Now _that_ didn’t seem very likely. Or maybe they were just trying to spite him.

Godsdammit it all, he didn’t know what to _do_ , and—

A sudden knocking on the front door distracted him from his increasingly pessimistic thoughts. He felt a sudden jolt of fear, wondering who on earth it was. He approached the door cautiously, as the knocking increased in volume. Could it be someone from Healers? Or some morbidly curious courtier, or someone trying to play a prank?

“Aunt Savil? Vanyel?” Good gods, that was Lissa’s voice! He flung the door open and there was his sister, still in riding leathers, wisps of hair escaping from her braid and floating around her face.

“Liss!” he cried out as she all but rushed through the front door, scooping him up in a hug that left him breathless. “Gods, I’ve missed you so much!”

“Me too! But what the hell has been going on, Vanyel?” She pulled away just enough to look him in the face. “Just a few days ago we got news at the Keep that you were in some kind of trouble. I got permission from Lord Corey to come see you, and just now the servants told me the Queen stripped you of your rank for being involved in a feud!”

Looking into his sister’s worried face, Vanyel felt a moment of doubt. Would she understand? Would she turn her back on him for what he’d done, and _nearly_ done, too?

“Liss,” he said, full of resolve. “I have a lot to tell you.”

***

Tylendel sighed and shifted in the chair. Today’s session with Lancir had been exhausting. He was still sick with guilt over what he’d done, especially over how he’d treated Vanyel. Half of him longed to see Van again, to hold him tight and promise to always take care of him, and the other half dreaded their reunion. He was afraid that Vanyel couldn’t possibly love him anymore, that Van found him revolting.

And gods, then there was Savil, too. And Mardic and Donni. The entire Heraldic Circle, the queen…he didn’t know how anyone would ever be able to forgive him, to ever even be able to _look_ at him again. There were so many people he’d betrayed and let down.

But he still had Gala; his Companion was inexplicably still a presence in his mind, thank the gods. There had been a strain in their relationship, undoubtedly, but it was mending, and he Felt her sympathy and support.

 _:Tylendel, if you’re going to start passing out blame, then you’d better start with me. What happened only happened because_ I _let it. You—you were sick, and we all should have seen it, should have known better._ We _failed_ you _. There’s a point where taking responsibility for your actions becomes entirely unproductive, you know:_

He sighed again. _:I know. It’s—I_ know _these things, but I can’t make myself_ feel _that they’re true.:_

There was a tentative knock on the door, and a Healer trainee poked her head inside. “You have a visitor,” she said, her words sending a jolt of terror and elation down his spine. And then she stepped back, and let Vanyel through the door.

He stood up, for a moment still feeling uncertain, before the _tug_ became too much and they were embracing, crying and whispering nonsense at each other.

“I thought—I was afraid that—“ Tylendel began.

“Shhh, I would _never_ ,” Vanyel replied, knowing what Tylendel was feeling before he could say the words. “You know you’re my whole _world_ , Lendel, and now, nothing can keep us apart, not even Lord Withen,” he finished.

Tylendel rested his forehead against Van’s, feeling the forgiveness and love coming from him. He was still certain that he didn’t deserve this, but he couldn’t turn Van away.

“How are you holding up, ashke?” Tylendel asked, knowing that life in the palace couldn’t be easy for him these days.

He shrugged. “It’s been a bad couple of days, but that was mostly for missing you,” he replied. “It—I can’t pretend the way people are acting doesn’t bother me, but I can’t really blame them, I suppose. And it’s not even that bad, truthfully. I’ve still got Aunt Savil, and,” he brightened. “Lissa is here. She rode all the way from Lord Corey’s, and we’ve been talking for hours.”

Tylendel felt his throat close up—he really was glad Van still had his sister, but he couldn’t help missing Staven…

Vanyel understood, though, and didn’t say anymore. It was truly amazing, this new bond. _Lifebonded_. In some ways it was like the bond with his twin and Gala, but it went so much deeper than that; he didn’t have to think or _reach_ in order to feel it; it was simply always there.

“I’m still getting used to this,” Van confessed shyly. “Feeling you like this. I like it, though.”

Tylendel smiled softly. “Me, too.”

“So, what now?” Van asked.

Tylendel shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. I’m,” he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m still not ready to leave here yet. I don’t know when I’ll be—well enough. And after? Who knows what the Circle will decide to do with me. I was getting pretty close to the end of my training; maybe by next year Savil would have taken me on an internship, but the Circle may decide to keep me here. They may not ever trust me enough to let me leave Haven.”

“You know that no matter what happens, I’ll be with you,” Van promised firmly. “I don’t know how I’ll make a living, but I’ll manage.”

“Vanyel, you know I’ll take care of you. As long as I’m Herald I’ll receive a salary; it will be a stretch making it enough for two, but you don’t need to worry about money, ashke.”

Van frowned a little at that. But he decided not to dwell on it for now. For now, he just needed to be with Lendel.

***

Savil was attempting to be patient as she paced the waiting room. She didn’t want to barge in on Tylendel and Vanyel’s reunion, but she had been pretty anxious about Tylendel, herself. She’d never had children, and never felt her life was lacking because of it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a bit maternal toward her trainees. And it was hard not to form a special attachment to Lendel, who’s parents were dead, and was ill treated by his remaining family.

To hell with it. They’d enough time. She walked out into the corridor and made her way to the room they were keeping Tylendel in. She paused at the door for a moment, listening, before briskly knocking. She gave them a moment more before she opened the door and stuck her head through.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked.

Tylendel and Vanyel were sitting together on the tiny bed, and had obviously been crying, but it didn’t look like they’d been doing anything other than talking.

“Savil,” Tylendel said, getting up. He looked so uncertain and tentative that she immediately entered the room and wrapped him up in a hug, which he returned hesitantly at first, before clutching her tightly.

_:You’re still my heart-son, Tylendel. There’s nothing you could do that would make me stay mad at you forever.:_

He didn’t reply in words, only held her closer.

“Better?” she asked aloud.

He pulled away enough to look her in the eyes, and gave her a shaky smile. “Getting there.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “Good. Because as soon as the Healers say you’re fit, I plan on taking the both of you to k’Treva. It’s a bit earlier than I’d intended, but with the way your Gift has developed, I think you need the kind of training you can only get from Starwind sooner rather than later.”

Vanyel and Tylendel looked at each other, and then turned back to her, confused.

“But what about the Circle? The queen? Will they even let me—“

“I’ve already cleared it with Elspeth. They all want you to get better, lad, and for your Gift to develop to full capacity.”

Tylendel looked at a loss. He kept looking back at Vanyel, and at her, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

 _:Gala says he thought he was going to be confined to Haven for the rest of his life. He thought there was no way he could ever earn back everyone’s trust.:_ Kellen informed her.

She shook her head at that. “Lendel, we—the Heralds—understand, alright?” She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze, and hoped that she could manage to say this the right way. “What happened was as much my fault as yours. It should never have happened because _I_ should have seen the signs, should have made you talk to Lance—that’s his job, after all, to help us when we aren’t thinking straight. Alright? It doesn’t do you or anyone else any good to keep blaming yourself.”

“I,” he began. He closed his eyes and gave up trying to say anything. He looked at her, at a loss for words, and finally nodded his head.

She spared a glance for Vanyel. “And what about you? If you’d rather stay here for a couple of years while Tylendel’s in k’Treva…”

The look he gave her could have withered daisies. She laughed, and felt real hope for their future for the first time since they’d been together.


End file.
